


Dinosaur Oatmeal

by dolamrotha



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Nanny x Single Parent AU, Probably other characters too probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolamrotha/pseuds/dolamrotha
Summary: Home for the summer after her final year of school, Lothiriel finds herself taking a nannying job for her father's friend, a single father. She never expected to fall in love. But then again, when do things ever go as planned, post-graduation?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's just for pure fun, though - knowing me - there will surely be angst at some point. I'll try to avoid the usual modern-era/romance tropes, but one or two may pop up. For reference here, Lothiriel has just graduated from college and is 22, Eomer is 27, and his daughter, Thea, is five. 
> 
> If you read the one-shot/prompt fill this all started with, then you'll recognize a good portion of the second half of the first chapter. ; )

By late June, she had officially been the holder of an undergraduate degree for almost two months. She had spent almost every day in one of three occupations: sunning and swimming at the beach, immersing herself in the studies she would need for the Master's program she hoped to pursue, and painting. Her fingers were stained with paint, all blues and greens and soft white-greys. Nothing she ever finished was what she wanted it to be, but it always felt good to lose herself in the feeling of it: in the way they paint stuck and moved on the canvas, the sound of the brush's bristles, the smell of the paint. 

She hadn't expected to spend her whole summer in such luxurious laziness, of course. It wasn't in her nature to enjoy long spans of time with little to do. She would need to find a job, of one sort or another: there were galleries and museums that could surely use help, children who might want to be taught to paint (or whose parents might want them to learn, in any case). Surely she would find something to occupy her time. 

For now, she had a painting to finish: a sea of blue and green beneath a darkening sky where seagulls wheeled. 

And she's undisturbed: it's only her and the paints and her brush, the photograph she references now and again with a glance of clear grey eyes, until her father's gentle tap on her bedroom door. 

She knows it's her father just from the rhythm of it: three gentle raps, one-two-three, with exactly the same length of time between each. 

"Come in, Ada," she calls, though she does not 

The name had been a baby lisp, once, long ago. Yet it had stuck forever: Lothiriel's own name for him, all their own. 

Her father comes in and simply watches her paint, watches the finishing strokes of the brush over the canvas. 

"I think this may be your best yet, Cygnet," he says as she cleans her brushes for the evening, turns on the tall stool to face him. 

"You say that every time, Ada." 

"And it is always true." 

Her father's hand lightly touches her hair, pulls her attention from the mess she has only just begun to clean up. 

"I have a question for you, Lothiriel. You spoke of looking for a job, at least for the summer, didn't you?" 

"Yes, Ada." 

"Have you found one?" 

It's a curious sort of question, one she's sure he knows the answer to: she would have _told_ him, if she had. 

"No, Ada." 

She can't help but be curious. This does not seem like the usual sort of question her father would ask her, nor is the look on his face quite _usual_ , either, though she could not explain _why_. 

"I know you've been enjoying your summer, and heaven knows you deserved the rest after all of the work you put into school. But it makes me glad to know you wish to work." Even though you do not need to. He doesn't say it, but they both know it. It is wound through everything, even in her very course of study. 

Her financial future has always been secure. 

"You know me, Ada. It's only been two months, and I already feel as though I have nothing to do. It's going to drive me crazy before the summer is over." 

"And so, my question: how would you feel about taking on a job as a nanny?" 

Well. That was unexpected. She blinks, peering at her father in confusion. 

"A nanny?" 

"I realize it has nothing to do with your studies. Perhaps you might not wish to try it at all. But I have a friend with a young daughter, and it seems the nanny he had hired for the summer has left them very suddenly. A family emergency or a change of mind, I'm not sure he knows the details. In any case, he has no one to care for her while school is out of session. It would be weekdays, eight in the morning until five or six. Possibly some evenings or weekends, here or there, as his work schedule requires." 

Nannying. She had no experience of nannies - they had never even had one, themselves. Her mother had raised them all, sent them to school. She had been there every morning and every evening. All Lothiriel knew of nannies was what she had seen in movies or read in books, and it made her nose wrinkle. 

"Ada, I don't know..." 

"It's only one child: a little girl of five or so. My friend - - his name is Éomer - - is a good and reasonable man. I confess I don't know what happened to the mother. Éomer has never spoken of her. But they never married, and Éomer has raised her on his own since she was only a year old. If you truly do not wish to do this, I will not force you. I shall tell my friend you found another job, and will not be able to. But I know he could use the help, at least for this summer." 

It is so like her father to speak so plainly and so simply, and yet to illustrate with his sparse words the things he didn't say: how much his friend truly needed help, how much it would mean to her father himself if she would help. 

She knew, too, that anyone her father liked so much would not make such work too terrible. Imrahil's judgment seemed never to be wrong, at least where people were concerned. 

And it wasn't like she had much else to do, anyway. 

Still, she sighs, as though it is some great imposition, and sees the edges of his eyes crinkle up in a smile. 

"Alright," she says, her own smile sneaking in. "Alright, I'll do it." 

* * *

 

There are three things that  Lothíriel notices first about the little girl running toward her: the big green eyes alight with curiosity, the cloud of tawny curls only half-tamed, and the fact that she’s currently riding a stick horse with a toy sword clenched in one little fist. 

“Oh,” she says, skidding to a stop in the front hallway, nearly colliding with  Lothíriel’s shins. “Hi!” 

One more thing: she’s  _literally_ the  _cutest_ little kid that  Lothíriel has  _ever_ seen. 

“Hi,”  Lothíriel replies, crouching down so that they could both be at eye-level. “You must be Thea.” 

“Uh huh. Daddy says you’re gonna be taking care of me when he goes to work and stuff.” Straight to the point,  Lothíriel thinks with a smile, and not shy in the least. This was  _bound_ to be interesting. Particularly once you factored in the measuring glint in Thea’s bright-eyed gaze. She must be clever as all get out,  Lothíriel muses. If she could prove herself, they’d get along famously. 

“I don’t know,” she says, furrowing her brow as she glances down at the toy horse, the gold-painted sword. “It looks like you can take care of yourself well enough. I think I’m just here to clean up after you.” 

“You’d be doing more than I can, if you can manage that.” 

The voice is a deep rumble, quiet as distant thunder, and when  Lothíriel glances up from Thea’s grinning face, the eyes staring back at her are not at all what she had been expecting. Keen and as bright as his daughter’s, they pierce  Lothíriel through in an instant, and she feels the responding thud of her heart like a gunshot. 

Oh _, **dear**. _

Her father had told her only that an old friend of his needed help with his child on some weekdays and evenings, but he hadn’t said that friend was so young. Or so handsome. Not that she might have expected such a report from her father, of all people, but it truly would have been nice to be  _prepared_. All her father had done was ask her if she’d be willing to help. And with her evenings and weekdays clear for the summer, how could she say no? 

“You’re Imrahil’s daughter?” 

She can only hope that she’s not blushing as she stands, nods, and tucks a few loose strands of dark hair behind her ear before holding out her hand.

“ Lothíriel,” she replies, using her bravest smile to cover up the sudden (and irrational) swell of nerves. His hand is warm around hers, rough with callouses, and so big that her own small, smooth hand is swallowed up in his. And heaven help her, but it sends an electric current up and down her arm, from hand to shoulder.

“ Éomer,” he says, and does she imagine it or do his eyes seem to drink her in a little more deeply than they should? Does she imagine it, or does he clear his throat as he takes his hand back to rest it on Thea’s head, instead. “Your father said you were good with children,” he says, with a grin made slow by either design or surprising reserve, and she can’t help but assume it’s the latter. “It’s clear he was right. Think you’ll be okay with Miss. Lothíriel for the day, T?” 

Little Thea looks up at him, shaking her head away from his hand and pushing her hair back with the rest of her sword hand. “Uh huh. She’s fun, I can tell.” The freckled little nose wrinkles suddenly, just before she says: “Better than the last babysitter, that’s for sure,” and the struggle to refrain from laughter is so plain on  Éomer ‘s bearded face that  Lothíriel can’t help but smile. 

“You can call me Thiri,” she says to the little girl with a wink. “And you’ll have to tell me all about this last babysitter, That way I can try my very best to be  _nothing_ like her.” 

There’s a pleasant sort of surprise in  Éomer ‘s eyes, as though he had been expecting a different sort of person, and maybe she can’t blame him. She can’t help but wonder how many Gondorian girls he’s met, if he’s ever met anyone from Dol Amroth besides her father and her brothers. 

“Alright, you,” he says to Thea, turning his gaze away from  Lothíriel at last. “Your breakfast is getting cold, go eat.” 

Though Thea rolls her eyes, she dashes away with a click of her tongue, as though urging on a horse, and  Lothíriel can’t help but to smile. 

“Thanks for doing this,”  Éomer says, keeping careful distance as he leads her down the hallway, toward the kitchen. “Your father said he’d ask you, but I never thought you’d accept. Thought you’d be too busy.” 

When they make it to the kitchen, Thea is sitting on a tall chair at a short breakfast bar, kicking her legs against the metal legs. 

“Thiri!” She calls. “Come look! There’s dinosaurs in my oatmeal!” 

“Dinosaurs?” She echoes, feigning alarm. “How did dinosaurs get in there?” 

The little sugar dinos nestled in the oats stare up at her, brightly colored, and she swears  Éomer looks almost sheepish, as though expecting a reprimand. After chatting with Thea about dinosaurs a moment, she finds her way back to him, knowing there must be instructions of some sort or another waiting before he can head out. “I always loved those, as a kid,” she says quietly, so Thea won’t hear that the surprise in her voice was false. “It was all my mom could do to make me eat the actual oats and not just the dinosaurs.” 

Whatever worry had been in his eyes melted away, replaced by a grin. 

“She’s got the appetite of a bear, so no need to worry about that. She’ll eat the whole thing and ask for seconds….which you can give her, by the way. Up to you.” 

His list of instructions is relatively brief, mostly concerning phone numbers to call in case of emergency (his own and his sister’s), and mentions of Thea’s favorite things to do. 

Just before he leaves, they’re there in the doorway,  Éomer on one side of the threshold,  Lothíriel on the other. 

“Seriously,” he says, “Call me for anything.” 

And it’s silly, but something in her chest seems to tighten at the words, though she knows he means - - can  _only_ mean - - anything that might come up with Thea.  _Right_? 

Their eyes meet, hold just a beat too long, long enough for both of them to realize it’s been a beat too long. 

“Don’t worry,”  Lothíriel says at last, hand on the doorknob and a smile on her face. “I’ve got this. Thea and I are going to get along just fine.” 

A moment longer he stands there looking at her, almost surprised, before a smile creeps back across his face and he pulls a hand through his mane of tawny hair. 

“Yeah,” he says at last. “I think you will.” 

If she feels a moment’s embarrassment or regret as she closes the door behind him, it doesn’t last long: there’s a five-year-old with a freckled face and a toothy grin dashing toward her, holding a basket full of toys. 

And how could she possibly say no to the little face that had already stolen her heart? 

“Come on, you,” she says, reaching out for the offered hand. “Let’s go clean up after those dinosaurs, first. Wouldn't want them growing too big on us, now, would we?" 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping forward a couple of weeks! Suffice it to say that not much important happened over that time, except for some rounds of hide-and-seek, more dinosaur oatmeal, and (of course) Lothiriel and Eomer both secretly agonizing over the fact that they find each other unbearably attractive (and supposedly off-limits). 
> 
> This is just some Lothiriel-and-Thea bonding time...  
> Followed by some Eomer-and-Lothiriel bonding (flirting? do they know how to do that?) time. ; ) 
> 
> They're gonna get there, I promise.

It was just too beautiful to not spend the day at the beach. One of those sunny summer days, warm but not scorching or devastatingly humid, and the water was just-this-side of chilly. Cool enough to relieve the heat, not cold enough to send swimmers running from the water. It was her father's own little stretch of coastline, and so there had been no crowds to contend with, no jostling umbrellas or blankets or screaming. Just thundering waves and clean white sand, and Thea laughing in the spray. She had been wary of the water, at least at first, but by the end of the afternoon, she had gone running into the surf with abandon, chasing wavelets, swimming with Lothiriel in the shallow stretches. 

"Like mermaids!" She'd said with glee, cheeks already tinted pink despite Lothiriel's careful applications of sunscreen. "We're like mermaids!" And Lothiriel was sure they must have looked the part: Thea's tawny hair burnished to deep gold by water and sunlight, Lothiriel's dark curls water-slicked, sticking to her shoulders before fanning out upon the water. 

They ate lunch on the back patio of Lothiriel's father's house, where Thea immediately struck up a friendship with her father's old rescue greyhound, happily sneaking him bites of hotdog when she thought Lothiriel wasn't looking. When they had finished eating, all the dishes cleared away, Lothiriel sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed flagstones with Thea sitting similarly cross-legged in front of her. Lothiriel was brushing through Thea's hair, gently untangling the sea-tangled strands from end to root before weaving it into two damp braids. 

"There," she said when she was finished, giving one of the braids a gentle tug. "Now you'll have mermaid hair when it dries." 

"Really?" Thea twisted to look up at Lothiriel, lifting a hand to touch one of her braids. 

"Really. The braids and the seawater make it wavy." 

Thea's delighted smile was interrupted by a yawn, and she leaned back against Lothiriel's knee, absently stroking the sleeping dog's head. 

"We should probably get you home soon, T. Your dad is gonna be back from work soon." 

"What about your dad?" 

Lothiriel laughed, looking back toward the house. 

"Yeah, mine will be home from work soon, too. Maybe next time we go to the beach, he'll be here and you can meet him." 

"He's friends with my dad, right?" 

"That's right." 

"From the army." 

Lothiriel hums her agreement, trying not to think about the time her father had been away, and leans forward to loosely wrap her arms around Thea's shoulders, resting her chin on top of her head.

Thea giggles, reaches up to absently play with one of Lothiriel's silver rings, twisting it round and round her finger. 

"Are you _my_ friend, Thiri?" 

Something about the way Thea asks it (the hesitation just before Thea asks it, the smallness of her voice) pierces Lothiriel straight through the heart, and she gives the little shoulders a gentle squeeze and kisses the top of her head. 

"'Course I am." 

Thea gives a happy little sigh, but wriggles out of Lothiriel's arms and stands up, causing the greyhound to lift his head from its perch on his paws. 

"Can I go look for seashells _one last time_?" 

"Okay, but no going in the water, and stay where I can see you. And come right back when I call you." 

Thea nods and takes off running, a flash of bare feet and bright green sundress in the sand. Lothiriel took the quiet moment to brush and braid her own hair and to put the dog back inside. For a few more minutes she simply watches as Thea ducks up and down the beach, dusting sand off of shells. 

"Come on, T!" She calls at last, waving when Thea looks up from the sand. "Time to go." 

* * *

It took only minutes for Thea to fall asleep in her booster seat in the back of Lothiriel's car. The combination of surf and sun, swimming and running, at last took its toll. It gave Lothiriel time to think, as she stopped and started her way through stoplights. Strange, how she had only been doing this a matter of weeks and could already love Thea so much. 

How she would do anything to keep her safe, to make her life be always days at the beach and seashell searches, and no other problems but how much ketchup to put on her hot dog at lunch. 

Her eyes lifted to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the top of Thea's head: head thrown back against the seat, mouth slightly open, eyes flickering - - just a little - - under closed lids. Dreaming, Lothiriel supposed. Maybe of swimming. Maybe of mermaids. 

Eomer's car was already in the driveway by the time they made it back: home early, it seemed. It was only four thirty. 

She had let him know of their plans before they'd left, texted him to ask if he was alright with their little day trip, and he had been fine with it. There was no reason for the little twinge in her stomach that felt so like nerves. Like she was about to be caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Ignoring it, she busied herself with unbuckling Thea from the booster seat, murmuring that she was home as she stirred. Half-awake, Thea let Lothiriel pick her up, wrapping her arms around Lothiriel's neck and cuddling her head against her shoulder. Her breath fluttered against Lothiriel's neck, smooth and even, and her little fingers wove into Lothiriel's hair as kicked the car door closed and started up the driveway. 

The front door opened before she could get to it, before she had to navigate how to open it with a sleeping five-year-old in her arms, and she breathes a sigh of relief that (thankfully) masks how much she could sigh for _other_ reasons. Namely, the fact that Thea's father hasn't become any less handsome these last few weeks. Or less kind. Or less affectionate with Thea. It's been plain from the start, how much he loves his daughter. She sees it again now in the warmth of his eyes as he watches them approach, standing there holding the door, changed from work clothes to jeans and a simple button-front shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. 

"Hey," he says quietly as Lothiriel sidles past, cradling the back of Thea's head to make sure she doesn't hit it against the frame. "Want me to take her?" 

If she laughs, it'll be against the sleeping child's ear, so Lothiriel smiles instead. 

"I would say yes, but I'm afraid she'd take half my hair with her if you did," Lothiriel whispers in reply. "I'll just go put her down in her room." 

Eomer follows her up the stairs and down the hallway to Thea's room, pulls the coverlet back so that Lothiriel can set her head against the pillows before she works on gently disentangling little fingers from her hair. 

"Thiri?"

"Hey, T. You're home in your room. Want to keep sleeping?" 

Thea's eyes blink sleepily as she nods, and with a smile Lothiriel strokes back strands of hair that had come loose from their braids, framing Thea's sweet face in a halo of salt-soft curls. 

"Is my dad home, yet?" 

"Right here." His voice is remarkably soft, and in the dim of Thea's room, it sends shivers down her spine. She can only pray he doesn't see the goosebumps that have risen up on her arms. But Thea's smile is surely enough to draw all of his attention, and sure enough, he goes to the other side of her bed to kiss her forehead. 

"Did you have fun today?" 

"Uh huh. Thiri and I went swimming, and I got shells, and..." 

As Thea's sleepy voice winds on, Lothiriel busies herself with unstrapping the sandals from Thea's feet, tucking her into the blankets. The conversation between father and daughter doesn't last much longer, Thea's words taking place between pauses that go longer and longer. She's already asleep by the time they both leave the room, Eomer closing the door quietly behind them. 

"Sounds like the two of you had a good day." 

"Oh! Yes, I think she liked the beach. Has she had lessons or is she just naturally a good swimmer?" 

Eomer's chuckle warms her straight through, and it's all she can do to take the stairs back down with her usual grace. 

"She had some lessons," he says as they reach the landing. "I at least wanted her to know _how_. She never seemed to like them much, so I don't know how you convinced her." 

"I can be very convincing," she says immediately, without thinking about it. The consequence is his mouth turning up into a smile, a bit of a gleam in his eye. 

All he says is "I'm sure," but it makes _Lothiriel_ sure she must be turning scarlet. 

"You, uh...don't have to go right away, if you don't want to," he says, rubs at the back of his neck. "I mean. If you want to take a break from driving. I know you just got back." 

It wasn't terribly far from her father's house to Eomer and Thea's - an hour, at the worst. But he's right: the thought of turning right back around to get in her car and drive again isn't exactly compelling. 

"Oh...well. If you don't mind me bothering you a bit longer..." 

"You're not bothering me." 

He says it so quickly and so...earnestly? That Lothiriel can't help but look at him with widened eyes. The hand rubs at the back of his neck again, but he doesn't look embarrassed or apologetic, or even  _nervous_. And Lothiriel, who is nervous (despite herself!) can't help but wonder at what, exactly, must be going through his mind. 

"Come on," he says at last, leading the way back to the kitchen. "I made coffee." 

He made jet fuel.

Lothiriel's first sip was so bitter and strong that she nearly spit it back out, thanked her mother silently for all those years of "useless, boring" etiquette lessons that ensured that she didn't. 

"Too strong?" 

He's drinking his own jet-black, and Lothiriel could swear that he's smirking. She narrows her eyes and wraps her hand around the warmth of her mug. 

"That's just mean." 

She likes his chuckle, likes even more that it comes with him turning to pass her cream and sugar, which she loads into her drink more liberally than usual. 

"I'm sorry," he says at last. "I make it that way out of habit, I guess." 

"I'm going to be shaking the whole way home," she grumbles, but still can't help the smile sneaking through her scowl. "It's a miracle your heart is still functioning, if you drink it like this every day." 

He only shakes his head and leans against the counter between them. For a moment, Lothiriel thinks he's about to say something, but no words ever come. Not for another moment, at least. (He had been considering responding with "my heart works just fine, thanks,' but couldn't bring himself to say it when the traitorous thing was currently beating faster than it had any reason to just because of her presence...the smell of ocean air that still clung to her, the way her smile made her cheeks dimple. This was his friend's daughter, his daughter's nanny. There were things you weren't supposed to think about or feel, when it came to people like that.) 

"Your father told me you were studying art history?" 

She sips her coffee carefully, a tiny sip. 

"You must think it sort of a silly thing to study," she says at last, quietly, and he's sure by the guarded look in her eyes that other people have spoken this thought before. 

The worst part was that he _had_ thought it frivolous when Imrahil had mentioned it. Not that he would ever willingly admit it now. 

So he shrugs, catches her gaze from across the breakfast-bar counter where she sits in the middle chair, propped high enough by the chair's long legs to be at his eye level. 

"Sounds like the sort of thing that might be silly if you didn't take it seriously," he says. "But your father said you do. He was proud of you for going after it." 

It unlocks something. Whatever moment of guardedness had been there passed away, and she was smiling again, almost glowing. As though she had been lit from within. 

"I do," she says. "I love it. I love everything about it: how it intersects with history and culture, how much it tells you about the _people_..." 

She trails off, catches her own exuberance, and tames it. He sees it happen, wishes she wouldn't, but by the time he thinks to tell her it's alright, the moment's gone. 

"Well. I hope you'll feel free to take Thea to the museums. Teach her everything you know. Lord knows I know next to nothing about art or culture." 

There's a note of something in his voice that Lothiriel can't quite grasp. Part wistful, part sad. She's sure she hadn't imagined it, even though he's smiling now. A small smile, almost only polite. But there, nonetheless. 

"Well, then," she says, in a voice so soft and small she's surprised that it's hers at all. "Maybe you should come with us. Then I could teach you, too." 

She had meant it to be friendly, meant it almost as a joke, but her own nerves had made her voice so low and soft that it came out...changed. Different. And the way he studies her sends her stomach wheeling, doing somersaults that she's sure are only half-related to the coffee. 

"Maybe I should," he says at last. And the way her heart jumps at that makes her stomach's somersaults feel like nothing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you all to know I was silently screaming to myself about both of them taking care of Thea at the same time. As if I wasn't the one planning all of this. 
> 
> Look at 'em being PARENTS!! 
> 
> Also: I'm really bad at slowburn. Really bad. I'm sort-of-trying but. Well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look, finally a little bit of Eomer's perspective!

If Thea had liked Lothiriel a little less, it might have been easier to put her from his mind. He might have been able to put aside the shock of that first meeting (the wide grey eyes looking up at him, the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, the soft scent of vanilla and lavender). But from that very first day, every second word from his daughter's mouth seemed to be about Lothiriel. What she said, what she did, the games they had played, the food Lothiriel had made them for lunch. There were even new mannerisms his daughter had acquired, specific tilts of the head or gestures of the hands that had not been hers, before. Mannerisms he was slowly beginning to realize had come from Lothiriel.

It gave new context to the brief moments he spent with her: the good-mornings and good-evenings, the hellos and the goodbyes. 

Her beauty had been evident at first glance. and - - yes - - it had struck him with a sure and sudden force he wasn't sure he'd felt, before. He wasn't a stranger to women, nor even to beautiful women, but had just the sight of a pretty face ever left him feeling like this? If it had, he couldn't remember it. But the obvious affection that Thea had for her, the kindness and intelligence of her made more clear through every interaction, every story told through Thea's innocent words? It was those things that held his interest most. Those things that made him wish he had some reason to spend more time with her, to know the person Thea knew. 

He had spent the whole night mentally kicking himself, tossing and turning in bed as the alarm clock beside him ticked on through the hours: "Maybe I will," he had said, and he was certain he must have been staring at her in a way she might have found almost frightening, and now all he could think about was the sound of her voice, the way her nose had wrinkled at the strength of the coffee. 

In short, he couldn't imagine what Imrahil had been thinking when he suggested this. 

Nor could he imagine what he was thinking a week later, when he took the afternoon off of work and picked up Lothiriel and Thea from his house to drive them all to an art gallery in a nearby city. If he was trying not to think about Lothiriel at all, then having her sitting in the passenger seat of his car, happily singing along to Thea's favorite song just to make her laugh, was not about to help the situation. 

But it was the most carefree he'd felt in years, with Lothiriel and Thea's laughter filling the car. Selfishly, he couldn't help but think that, whatever he had been thinking, it had been the best idea he'd had in years. 

* * *

 

The museum was housed in a giant building that spanned several city blocks, all marble columns and wide stairs leading up to the entrance. The entrance way was still and quiet, despite the people lingering in alcoves or walking through as they consulted gallery maps. Thea was gazing around, quiet and awed, holding on to Lothiriel's hand on one side and Eomer's on the other.

"What do you think, Thea?" Lothiriel asked, giving the little hand holding fast to hers a little squeeze. "Should we go see some paintings, or do you want to see the statues, first?" 

"Paintings!" Thea replied. So they set off down a long corridor lined with galleries, passing slowly in and out of interlocking rooms that seemed to go on forever. Portraits and landscapes and still-lifes all passing in front of them in a blur of color and shadow. Lothiriel was obviously lost in delight, flitting among the works as though mingling with old friends at a party. She spoke quickly and softly, sometimes, to Eomer and to Thea: details of paintings and tidbits of the history surrounding them. Yet always she seemed to have a keen knowledge of when to speak and when to simply let them look, and most of her attention was - of course - focused on Thea. Eomer, however, didn't mind in the slightest: it gave him quiet moments to watch them together. How Lothiriel never spoke to Thea in the condescending manner of an adult speaking to a child they thought would not understand. How often Thea reached for Lothiriel's hand or tugged at the skirt of her sundress to ask a question. 

Watching them, it strikes him suddenly that it looks for all the world like a daughter with her mother, and something in his chest constricts.

They move into a room that seems to be all hazy greens and blues, bits of floating white and muted color layered until it seemed to shimmer in the light. These were paintings he had seen before: Monet's water lilies floating beneath a bridge's arc, a sense of light and motion. 

"I think she likes Impressionism" Lothiriel appears at his side so quietly that he's sure a different person might not have even heard the gentle tap of her sandaled feet on the floor, might have jumped at her approach. Eomer only chuckles and turns his gaze toward his daughter. Thea is just off to the right of them, gazing up at a framed painting full of grass and flowers. 

"I've never seen her so quiet," he says. 

Quiet, but not subdued: she looks interested, her eyes shining, and she returns to her father and Lothiriel again and again with questions and exclamations. 

Lothiriel laughs, the sound so soft it's swallowed in the stillness of the room. 

"I have to admit," she says, "I've been telling her that museums are quiet places. And that she has to save all of her loudness for the ride home?" 

He groans and she laughs again, turning to look at the painting in front of them as a comfortable silence falls between them. They follow along in Thea's wake, letting her choose which paintings to linger in front of, which ones to glance at and move on from. 

"Have you always wanted to study this?" Eomer asks at last, nodding toward the gallery walls. 

"I don't know about always. I wanted to be a marine biologist between the ages of ten and fourteen," she says, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  "I was obsessed with the ocean. I suppose, in a way, I still am - - I'm always drawn to the seascapes in museums. My mom put me in art classes when I was little, though, and I always loved to paint. From there, I guess it was just sort of natural for me, wanting to learn more about my favorite paintings: what the world was like when they were painted, what the people who painted them went through. The politics, the techniques, all of it just became so fascinating that I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to study." 

Her eyes seem to light up when she speaks about it, and he wishes there was more he could think to ask: specific questions, some bit of knowledge he could share. But this world is a foreign one to him. All he knows about brushstrokes and technique are what he sees in the frames they're passing. But the silence that falls between them doesn't feel awkward or forced, as though she expects him to fill it with questions. They both seem perfectly content to murmur passing comments, answer Thea's questions, follow after her as she moves from one piece of art to the next. 

Lothiriel's question doesn't come until they're winding their way down broad stone stairs to the statue gallery, their voices soft murmuring echoes in the quiet. 

"Eomer? May I ask you something?" 

Thea stares in fascination at the figure of a young girl in a ballet costume, arms stretched behind her, chin tilted up. Ready to take flight. She echoes the stance, and Lothiriel thinks it would be no surprise if ballet lessons weren't next on the wish-list. 

Eomer only nods, looking wary. He has been expecting questions about Thea's mother since Lothiriel started, and he still hasn't found a way to answer them. Not in a way that would make sense, not in a way that he thought she would truly understand. And he doesn't want to have that conversation here, not now. 

"Why did you say you don't know anything about art or culture?" 

She doesn't add to it, doesn't qualify or comment on the question, only asks it. Her eyes skim the statues around them, focused more on Thea's reactions than on the sculpture themselves. 

"Well," he says, after a pause. "I _don't._  Know much about art. I always had other things to...occupy me." His parents' deaths, his sister's well-being, his uncle's health, the horses. "Then I got to thinking it was too late to learn." 

"Oh." 

Her shoulder brushes his arm as they walk along, side-by-side. An accidental touch that sends a spark through his skin, spreads heat across her shoulder. 

"Oh?" 

"It's just..." She bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and he wonders if he knows how utterly captivating the motions are. "I know there are some people around here who don't...speak favorably, about the people of Rohan. Not the ones worth listening to, but they still talk." 

He nods, feeling a guilty, pleasant warmth at the thought of her worrying over him. 

"Not to worry," he says, softly, and she looks up at him with eyes made soft, dark silver in the dim museum light. "Strangers' words don't matter much to me." 

They've slowed to a stop beneath an archer mounted on a rearing horse, just looking at each other, spellbound in the silent moment. Until Thea runs up with the patter of sandaled feet on the stone floor to grasp Lothiriel's hand. 

"Thiri! Come quick and tell me about this one!" She says, and tugs Lothiriel off by the hand to another statue. 

* * *

 

It's late afternoon by the time they leave the museum (after lunch in the little cafe and a trip through the gift-shop, Thea delightedly clutching a bag that held a new case of colored pencils and a coloring book with outlines of prints of famous pictures inside). Thea goes skipping down the stairs, Lothiriel and Eomer following just behind her. When they reach the bottom she hands the bag to Eomer and ducks between the two of them, taking their hands and tugging hard. 

"Swing me, swing me!" She demands, and with each step forward they lift her momentarily from the ground. 

"Dad! Thiri!" She plants her feet determinedly, and Lothiriel glances down at her, puzzled, until she hears what Thea does: the tinkling music of an ice-cream truck, one just in front of them beside the sidewalk. "Can we get ice cream? Please? Pleeeease?" 

"I don't know," Lothiriel says, looking up at Eomer with a smile. One that wasn't supposed to stop his heart for a moment, but certainly does. "I think that's up to your dad." 

It will keep them there longer, he knows that. It will suspend them in these moments just a little while longer. For just a little while longer. 

He's already decided that he'll say yes, though he draws it out, sighs heavily before he says "Well, alright." 

He buys Thea an enormous popsicle he's sure she'll never finish, then insists on buying Lothiriel something, too, though she demurs at first. She settles on a soft-serve cone of vanilla ice cream. The three of them find a park bench beneath a tree, eat their frozen treats in the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon sun. Thea does not finish her enormous popsicle (as Eomer had predicted), and skips away to throw out the remains. When she comes back she flops down on the grass, tugs her new coloring book and pencils from the bag and settles into putting color back into Monet's lily pond. 

"You could have got whatever you wanted, you know," Eomer says, lightly nudging Lothiriel's shoulder with his own. But she only gives him a funny little look, happily popping the last bit of cone into her mouth. 

"That was what I wanted," she says when she's finished. "I _like_ vanilla."

She's apparently unaware of the smudge of vanilla lingering on her lip. Eomer can't seem to take his eyes from it, though she hasn't noticed that, either. She's too busy watching Thea, an affectionate smile nudging at the ice cream smudge. 

"...You're staring at me," she says at last, glancing at him from the corner of her eye with a funny little smile. "Is there something wrong with my face?" 

"No," he says, means it so deeply that it comes out deep and half-whispered, and he sees as much as hears her catch her breath. "Hold still." 

Slowly, he leans across the park bench, slowly tips her chin with the pads of his fingers, slowly uses his thumb to wipe the smudge of ice cream from her lip. Beneath his touch her lips part, he can feel her breath upon his wrist. And without quite making the decision to do it, his thumb traces lower, follows the curve of her lip to its corner. They're close, now, so close - - - closer than they've ever been before. She's right there, she's not leaning back, not pulling away. The whole world seems to tremble there between them. 

And then, just like that: a quick little gasp, the blink of long lashes over grey eyes. She turns her face away from him, flushed and breathing quickly. 

"We should go," she says, not looking at him. She only stands to go to Thea, kneels down beside her and touches her shoulder, smooths the hair back from her forehead, tells her it's time to leave. By the time they're both standing, Thea's hand in Lothiriel's, all trace of a flush is gone from Lothiriel's face, and she doesn't shy from Eomer's eyes. 

But the ride home is quiet when Thea falls asleep. 

"Lothiriel," he starts, glancing at her sidelong, fingers tight upon the weel. "I'm s-...." 

She interrupts him, though her eyes are fixed through the windshield, fingers fiddling with her seatbelt. 

"Don't," she says, softly and quickly. "Don't apologize." 

He doesn't know what to make of it. nor of the silence that follows. But she says "I'll see you tomorrow," when he drops her off at home, and he feels a knot of worry in his chest come loose. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering:  
> 1.) The gallery they go to visit is loosely based off of the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. It's one of my favorite places in the country, so I couldn't really resist. I'm pretty sure at least a good number of any paintings actually mentioned aren't actually housed in that particular museum, but....it's not ACTUALLY the National Gallery, so...  
> 2.) Imrahil IS meddling. Slightly. But I don't think he's QUITE playing matchmaker. I think he just thinks Lothiriel would be good for Thea as much as Thea would be good for Lothiriel. Does he also think there's the possibility Eomer and Lothiriel might be good for each other, too? Well....I guess we'll find out. But it was never his intent to put Lothiriel in the position for that reason.  
> 3.) The next one is a GOOD one, I'm so excited to write it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Disney movie marathon, Worried Dad Eomer, and some looking back to the past, where things are confusing because I have no sense of REAL time not to mention FICTIONAL time. Also there's a lot of talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm skipping over broad swaths of time at...at time. I know. But like....I'm not one for filler, normally, and I don't know what else other chapters would have been? So we're sort of just skipping through the summer, and moving into August. Suffice it to say that Lothiriel and Eomer have (still) been dancing around each other, and that there's sufficient doses of Added Awkward following the last chapter.
> 
> Also, Eomer talks a lot in this one and it's weird.

There hasn't been a single day so far this summer that has seen a version of Thea remotely like the current one. All she seems to want to do is lay on the couch, a stuffed horse held in her arms, and watch her favorite movies. At first, Lothiriel had thought she must have just been tired. There were _mornings_ like this, certainly, but she always quickly came up to full energy. 

Today, though, she only snuggled closer, her head on a pillow propped against Lothiriel's knee, and said, "Can we watch Moana, now?" 

"'Course we can," Lothiriel replied, looking down at the child as Thea coughed, then sniffled, then hugged her stuffed horse closer. She lifts the remote to put the movie on, letting the opening music play before she drops her hand to Thea's head, gently strokes her fingers through her hair. 

As her fingers touch Thea's forehead, they meet skin that's much too warm. 

"Are you feeling okay, T?" 

"Yeah. I mean....sort of." 

"Ok. Stay here a second, okay? Watch Moana, I'll be right back." 

Thea nods, and Lothiriel slides her legs out from beneath the pillow, walks down the hall into the bathroom. There are no thermometers there, so she goes upstairs, hoping against hope she won't have to go snooping through the master bathroom to find what she's looking for. Luckily, there's a thermometer in the bathroom across from Thea's bedroom. When she returns to the living room, Thea's still sitting quietly, still focused on the television screen. Lothiriel kneels next to her, thermometer prepared. 

"Open your mouth, ok? You've got to hold this under your tongue." Thea obeys, closing her lips around the thermometer when Lothiriel tells her to, eyes still focused on the movie as they wait for the thermometer to beep. Lothiriel almost gasps when she looks down at the number. 

"What?" Thea asks, and Lothiriel shakes her head. 

"You've just got a bit of a temperature, that's all. It's ok. It just means you're sick. I'll be right back, I'm just going to put this away." 

Upstairs, she throws out the little paper covering for the thermometer tip, puts it back in the medicine cabinet, and calls Eomer with the phone tucked against her shoulder. 

"Lothiriel? Is everything alright?" He asks, right away. She never calls, has never called. Not in the middle of the day. Before the art museum and the long drive back, she'd sent text updates with pictures of Thea, but even those had slowed to a stop ever since. The worry in his voice makes her stomach pinch with a touch of guilt.

"Hey, um...everything's okay, it's just...I don't want to worry you...I just....I wanted to see if there was any chance you could come back a little early today. Thea's not feeling well, she has a pretty high fever...." 

"How high?" 

"Nothing dangerous, but it's definitely a fever. She's been quiet and coughing all morning, so I started to get worried." 

She can hear him sigh on the other end of the phone, pictures him resting his forehead in his hand. 

"I'll get out of here as early as I can." 

"Okay. I'll take good care of her, I promise." 

"I know." They both linger on the line a moment longer before he says, "Lothiriel?" 

"Yes?" 

"....Thank you. For calling me." 

"Of course." 

Lothiriel calls her mother next, looking through the medicine cabinet as her mother's comforting voice offers instruction through the phone, then goes back downstairs to pour a glass of water and to wet a cloth with lukewarm water. Thea takes her medicine and drinks the water without so much as a question, cuddles into Lothiriel's arms and lets her sponge her forehead. Even at lunchtime, Thea only wants soda crackers, barely touches the soup Lothiriel offers her, and the cough only seems to be getting worse. 

The afternoon finds them back on the couch watching movies, though Thea falls asleep curled against Lothiriel's side. It isn't long after that Eomer opens the door. 

"Hey," he says, voice hushed, literally dropping his things by the door and making a beeline for the couch, dropping to his knees and reaching out to brush Thea's hair back from her forehead. "How is she?" 

"Sleeping," Lothiriel whispers, receiving a deadpan stare for her efforts. "She's alright. I gave her some medicine for the fever, and...sort of obsessively taking her temperature. My mom said to keep an eye on her, and that you should call her doctor in the morning. Just in case." 

He nods, leaning back on his heels, gaze focused on his daughter. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't get back sooner," he says. "I left as soon as I could, but everyone in Gondor  seemed to be on the roads..." 

"Eomer." There's too much guilt in his eyes for her taste, too much in the way he's examining Thea's still-feverish face. But her voice seems to cut through it for a moment, lifts his gaze to her face, instead. "She's okay. Kids get sick. From what I've heard, it's practically their biggest talent." 

He almost smiles. Almost. 

"Are _you_ okay?" He asks, after a moment, and she blinks back at him in slight confusion. 

"Me?" 

He's looking at her, clearly expecting an answer, and Lothiriel feels a bit as though she has been pinned to the spot. 

"I'm...I'm fine. My arm is falling asleep, though." 

"Ah. Yes. I should probably take her upstairs." 

He scoops Thea up so easily, and Lothiriel watches, unable to look away, as he kisses her forehead and murmurs words of comfort when she stirs. 

Lothiriel lingers on the couch for a moment but finds herself following quietly a moment later, lingering in the doorway of Thea's room as Eomer tucks Thea in, just in time to hear a sleepy "Where's Thiri?" 

"Right here," she says, stepping forward to perch on the edge of the little bed, across from Eomer. "You didn't think I'd leave without saying goodbye to you, did you?" 

Thea coughs, then yawns, then snuggles deeper into her pillows. "No."

Lothiriel smiles, repeats a gesture her mother had once used on her when she was sick and sleepy: a gentle, repetitive sweep of her fingers through the hair across Thea's forehead. "Go to sleep, T. You need your rest." 

It doesn't take long for the blinks to become even deeper, for Thea's breathing to soften, even through the coughs. Lothiriel is as aware of Eomer's gaze upon her, upon them, as she would be of the sun on her skin. 

"Thiri?" It's only a whisper, but loud enough in the quiet room for both of them to hear. 

"Yeah, T?" 

"I dreamed you were my mommy," she says, and Lothiriel feels the world's turning screech to a stop, hears Eomer's intake of breath beside her, and can't bear to look at him. "I wish...." a big yawn, little arms curling stuffed horse closer. "I wish you _were_ my mommy." 

Lothiriel can't be sure if her heart is breaking or expanding, but either way, it _hurts_. But she manages to choke out a good night before Thea's fast asleep, and she leaves the room before Eomer's lingering gaze can make her look back at him. 

* * *

 

It takes her a moment to find her keys, which is - at it turns out - just enough time for Eomer to come down the stairs and say her name. She doesn't want to leave, not really. She wants to stay, to make sure Thea's okay. 

"I was going to ask if you'd be okay with me staying," she says, playing with her keys and avoiding his gaze. "To help with Thea, that is, but I think I'll just..." 

"Of course you can stay," he says, glancing down at the keys in her hand. "...If you want to." 

"I think I'd only spend the night worrying, anyway," she says softly, sets her keys back on the counter, and lets her bag slip from the shoulder. And unless she's mistaken, that's a smile on Eomer's face, small though it is. He doesn't say anything, though, just vanishes into the kitchen. Lothiriel turns the other way, back into the living room, and perches on the couch to send a quick message home: Thea's sick, staying to help out. Don't wait up! Love you. 

Eomer comes back with two glasses in his hands, sits down next to Lothiriel with a heavy sigh and passes her one of the glasses. He holds his own in one hand, rested on his knee, and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion, eyes closed. 

"It bothered you," he says, eyes still closed. "What she said, up there. Didn't it?" 

Lothiriel sighs, looking down into her own glass. Bothered wasn't the right word, she thought, but "No," is what she says. 

"No, it didn't bother me. Did it bother _you_?" 

"No.: 

More information than that does not seem to be forthcoming, and Lothiriel (all unknowing that Eomer's eyes have opened, just a touch) rolls her eyes. She misses the strange little half-smile that touches Eomer's mouth and falls away just as quickly. 

"What happened to her?" It's the question she hasn't been asking, the one that's been in the back of her mind ever since her first day, and it's asked almost in a whisper, a question so tentative she's still not sure she's asked it. 

"I thought you were never going to ask," he says, and she feels her shoulders relax, lets herself curl up on the couch with her feet tucked beneath her. Eomer opens his eyes and lifts his head long enough to take a long sip from his glass, then lets his head falls back again. "She died when Thea was two." 

"I'm so sorry." She says it automatically and almost hates herself for it. It's the sort of thing everyone says, after all, and this was Thea's mother. Didn't she deserve a bit more than that? "I mean, you must have...you must have really loved her." 

She does see him look at her, this time, and she isn't sure what to make of the expression of his face. 

"You want to know more about her," he says, and it isn't a question. There's no anger or unbearable grief in his voice, no annoyance at having to speak about it, so Lothiriel only bites her lip and nods. 

"Only if you don't mind telling me," she says. 

"Her name was Ellan," he says. "She was one of my best friends when we were kids." It's the sort of beginning she had expected, and she settles into it, sure she knows just where this is going: childhood friends realizing they were more-than-friends....

"She was in love with my cousin," he says, and Lothiriel nearly chokes on her drink. "Theodred. But he never saw her any differently than he saw Eowyn." He gives Lothiriel a look, then, that she can't quite understand - a sidelong glance at the mention of his cousin's name, although she only barely knows it. "He died, and she was devastated. We all were. But Ellan, she...." He shook his head, took a long sip from his cup. "She was inconsolable. Vanished, actually, for a little while. After his funeral. I didn't see her for months, not until just before I left with the army. We ran into each other by accident. At this bar." He has his eyes open still, but his head is tipped against the couch back, and he's not looking at her, but up at the ceiling. "Very little good seemed to have happened for either of us, since Theodred died. We drank too much. Far too much. We both decided, the next morning, that we wouldn't mention it again. It had happened, but we didn't feel anything for each other but friendship, so we'd just move on. I went to war. And the next time I heard from her, she was in tears." 

Despite herself, despite all the heartache and the strangeness of it, she can't help the sense of hope and relief blossoming beneath everything else, relief she hadn't even known she could expect: _we didn't feel anything for each other but friendship._

"I didn't make it home until a couple of months after she was born," he says. "Ellan was absolutely in love with her from the start. Smiled every time she looked at her. We didn't know what the hell we were doing, but we were making it work, somehow. Raising her between us, even though we weren't..." He makes a vague gesture with the hand that holds his glass. 

Two years, Lothiriel thought. Two years. She wonders what those two years looked like, what that family had been like, whether what Eomer had said had been true, suspecting that they must have fallen in love, somewhere along the line. She wonders what had happened, mourns the fact that Thea had a mother who loved her, pulled away too soon. Much too soon, before Thea would truly be able to remember her. 

"She was driving home from work one day, and she was hit when she went through an intersection. The driver sped through a red light, and her car flipped when he hit it. It went down an embankment and hit a tree." He lifts his free hand to his face, rubs at his forehead. "I had to identify her," he says. "She had no other family." 

The only thing she'd be able to say to that was another powerless "sorry," another weak response...so instead she glances down at what remains of her drink, listens as Thea coughs once or twice in her sleep...and then seems to sleep soundly again. 

"I did love her," he says at last, and it's so out of the ordinary for him to supply information like this without questions that it catches her attention. When she looks up, it's to find that he's sitting forward, now, his glass placed on the end-table beside him, and the motion has brought him closer than he had been before. "She was kind and outspoken and funny. She could drink me under a table when she wanted to. She knew how to make friends with just about anyone, and she meant it, too. She _wanted_ to be friends with everyone. But I was never in love with her. We were friends. I'd say we made a mistake, but I can't. Because Thea's not." 

Lothiriel sets her own drink on the coffee table, watches from the corner of her eye how his gaze follows her, watches her motions. She only hesitates for a moment before she reaches out and rests her hand over his. He swallows - she can see the bob of his throat - turns his hand so slowly that it barely seems to be moving, until her hand is cradled in his. With his other hand he gently traces her palm with the tip of a finger, sends a rush of goosebumps chasing up her arms. 

"Thank you," she says, softly. It's all she can manage. "For telling me." 

He's looking down at her hand as he answers, as though he has never seen another human hand, but he nods at her words. 

"It's my turn to ask you a question," he says, though still, he doesn't look up. "You told me not to apologize. Why?" 

Uncomfortable, suddenly, she shifts beside him, though she doesn't pull her hand away. She had meant the gesture to be comforting and brief, but she had let him hold her there. And the touch just felt too good, too blissfully sweet, to pull away from. 

Of course she knows what he's referring to. She's been playing those scenes on repeat in her mind, over and over again. How close they had come to a kiss, how hard she'd had to struggle to pull away, how much she had wanted to let him...

"Were you going to kiss me, then?" It's as much a struggle to ask that question know, so difficult to speak that it's another whisper. His fingers pause their tracing of her palm, linger for a moment, and then continue. 

Slowly, he nods. 

"I thought so. I-....I told you not to apologize because I _wanted_ you to." His gaze snaps up to her face, fierce and sudden, and she knows if she doesn't speak now, she soon won't be able to. "But I couldn't let you," she says in a rush. "I couldn't let mysel-...." 

"Why?" 

He has threaded their fingers together, and she looks at their hands, blinks away tears that are threatening. He hasn't spoken harshly. His own voice is low and even and deliberate, but urgent, and there's a longing in it that hits her so hard that it hurts. An echo of her own. 

"Because I can't work for you and be...anything else," she says, looking up into his eyes, "And you still need someone to look after her, until school starts. And I won't abandon her so close to the end of the summer." 

He sees the loophole in all of this, of course, she can see the relief close his eyes an extra beat on a blink. 

"I wouldn't ask you to," he says, lifts her hand to his lips, grins - a little - as she shivers and then blushes pink. "But," he says, holds her gaze as his voice dips deeper, a low rumble that makes her catch her breath. "Don't make any plans for September 3rd. I plan on asking you to dinner." 

It makes her laugh, but she's interrupted by a chorus of coughing from upstairs, too hard and too long, and she winces. 

"I'll go," she says, gently tugs her hand away from him. "I made her promise she'd take the medicine when I gave it to her, and she's due for her next dose." 

Lothiriel is sure that little else but the fact that she's going off to care for his sick daughter would have coaxed him into letting go of her hand. But as she walks off, before she reaches the door, she gathers her courage and turns back. She stands in front of him, just beside his knees, lifts a hand to one cheek and presses a lingering kiss to the other. His skin is warm, and at this short distance, she can hear the intake of his breath as her lips press to his skin, feel the exhale as she gently pulls away. 

"By the way," she says, perfectly aware that she's blushing again, that he can see every emotion written plain upon her face, "I plan on saying yes." 

She turns away before she can see his grin, scurries off upstairs, and thinks that the end of August can't possibly come soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on Chapter Four, now! I've never planned for this fic to be very long, and I think it'll likely be finishing up in just a few more chapters. I am, however, planning for there to be several one-shots in the same universe, so the end of this fic won't be the end of Thea, Lothiriel, and Eomer. 
> 
> I'm also not about to give a chapter AMOUNT, because friends...I have no clue. Three at the VERY least, possibly more. 
> 
> Also, you'll notice that I've taken liberties with canon events to make certain parts of Eomer's story fit together. You'll also notice that I very obviously don't have a good reason for him being in Gondor currently rather than Rohan. That's less by design and more by me flying by the seat of my pants through this whole story. 
> 
> Some of you may be surprised by the story of Thea's mom. I sort of was, too. I had an idea of who she was more than of her story, when I started. I played around with several outcomes, but when it came time to actually WRITE, this was what came from it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may or may not be happening because I realized I tagged a bunch of characters that haven't been seen yet? But you can't prove anything.

With nothing but a "bwhuff," soft as a whisper, they're engulfed in a cloud of fine white dust. 

Coughing, Lothiriel waves it away with a hand. 

"Thea! I said 'be careful!'" It's meant to be a scolding, but she's laughing through it, and Thea is already giggling. "There's flour everywhere!" 

"Sorry, Thiri," Thea manages to say in between bouts of giggles. Lothiriel shakes her head and ruffles Thea's hair. 

"Lower over the bowl next time, ok? We've still got three cups left." 

Thea nods and sets to work, scooping up the next measuring cup of flour and knocking the hills of it off with the flat of a butter knife, lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration. This time, she's more careful in the pouring of the flour, and it falls into the bowl with very little mess. 

They're only just mixing in chocolate chips when there's the sound of a key in the door, then footsteps in the entryway. For a second, she thinks Eomer must have come home early, and her stomach erupts in a flight of fluttering. But the footstep is too light to be his, and the voice that calls out "Anyone home?" is decidedly feminine. 

"Auntie Eowyn!" Thea shrieks, scrambling down from the step-stool that had let her reach the mixing bowls on the counter and running down the hallway. There's a soft "oof!" and then laughter, and moments later Thea returns with a tall blonde woman. 

Lothiriel knows who she is right away, though they've never met. The shape of the woman's eyes and the set of her mouth are so much like Eomer's, and there's at least one photograph in Thea's room that features her. (Eomer in front of a rail fence with Thea in his arms, horses in the field behind them, and this same woman just beside them. "That's my Aunt Eowyn," Thea had told her, once. "She's dad's sister, and she's the _best.)_

Whether or not Eowyn thinks so highly of Lothiriel, though, remains to be seen. The look she's giving her now is entirely examining. Her eyes are sharp and intelligent and guarded, and Lothiriel feels small and young and soft beneath their gaze. 

The smudges of flour on her face and in her hair certainly don't do much to help. 

"Well, you're brave, I'll give you that," Eowyn says, at last, a cautious half-grin breaking through the solemn examination. "Baking with this one. You're Lothiriel?" 

"I am," Lothiriel admits, tucking a loose strand of dark hair back into her braid. "You must be Eowyn?" 

Eowyn nods, walking around the counter to stand beside Lothiriel, guided by Thea's tugging hand. She lifts Thea back up onto the step stool, then looks down at the mixing bowl and the mess of flour. 

"You're doing better than I did, the one time I tried this," Eowyn says, tracing a finger through the fine white dust. "Remember, Thea? We covered the ceiling in flour and the floor in brown sugar, and your dad said I was never allowed in the kitchen alone again." 

Thea giggles, grabbing the wooden spoon and beginning to stir again. 

"I've heard a lot about you," Eowyn says, looking at Lothiriel over the top of Thea's head. "They both think highly of you." It's simple enough as a statement, but there's something in Eowyn's gaze that says she knows, and it makes Lothiriel blush. 

"I think highly of them, too," she says, and apparently it was the right thing to say. Eowyn's smile softens, loses a little of its caution. 

"Good," she says, and jumps right in to help them transfer the dough from bowls to cookie sheets. 

With the cookies in the oven, Lothiriel convinces Thea to run off and change her clothes while she and Eowyn set about cleaning up the flour. 

"I should apologize for dropping in on you with no warning," Eowyn says as Lothiriel stands at the sink to clean the spoons and bowls. "I guess I'm used to showing up here out of the blue. I didn't even tell my brother I was thinking of stopping by." 

"Oh! That's alright - I thought you were Eomer, at first, when I heard the key in the door. It isn't as though you were breaking in." 

"It must not have been as good a surprise for you when it wasn't my brother, though." 

"I...." 

"You blush quite a bit, don't you?" Eowyn's grinning, tossing out used paper towels and looking for something else to do. "So far, every time my brother is mentioned." 

Lothiriel lifts a hand from the soapy water, touching the dry portion of her wrist to her (admittedly warm) cheeks. 

"He doesn't talk all that much, my brother. Not even to me. But he talks about you all the time." 

"He does?" 

At least cleaning the bowls offers some degree of distraction, a reason to look anywhere else but at Eomer's sister. 

"I'll admit it: It's actually the whole reason I'm here. I wanted to meet you for myself." 

Lothiriel's just a touch too terrified to ask if she measured up to what Eowyn had heard of her. 

"I'm glad," she says, instead. "Thea's told me about you, and I've always kind of wanted to meet you." 

"Kind of?" 

Lothiriel laughs, letting the water drain from the sink and picking up a nearby towel to dry the dishes. 

"I was also slightly terrified." 

Eowyn's laugh is surprising: soft and low and melodious. 

"I can't really say I blame you. Listen - there's another reason I'm here. Eomer told me he wouldn't ask you out until Thea starts school, but I figured that I can still invite you: we're meeting some friends tonight, for dinner. I think Eomer said you know Aragorn?" 

"Aragorn?" Another of her father's friends. "We've met, here and there. He's friends with my father. Why?" 

"He'll be there with his wife and their kids. There'll be other people, too. We tend to take up a good quarter of whatever poor restaurant we descend on. I'm inviting you as my friend because I know Eomer would love to have you there. He just won't ask." 

"Because I told him not to," Lothiriel points out, gently, and Eowyn laughs. 

"I know. Still. You didn't tell me not to. And I do really think it would make his day if you were there. What do you say?" 

The only plans she'd had that night involved a canvas and a paintbrush and maybe a glass of wine, so she shrugs. 

"How could I say no to more time with Thea?" 

"Just Thea?" 

Lothiriel, caught out, laughs. 

"Don't let Eomer know you're going, I want to surprise him," Eowyn says. "We're all meeting at seven, at The White Tree. Come a little bit later, I'll meet you at the door." 

Eowyn is already grinning like the cat who got into the cream, but Lothiriel can't help but wonder just what she got herself into. 

* * *

The White Tree Restaurant and Brewery is old, just about as old as the city. Years back, it had fallen into some disrepair and briefly closed, but these days it seemed to be doing better than ever. Lothiriel arrives at ten after seven, just as Eowyn had asked, and immediately spots a golden-haired head waiting by the door. Eowyn leads her back through the busy restaurant to a little room in the back. It's taken up by an enormous table, crowded with smiling faces that all pause in their conversations when the two women appear at the door. 

Eomer, sitting with his back to the door, doesn't look back until the rest of them start to notice them, and then he only glances for a moment...before turning again on a double-take. 

"Lothiriel?" 

He's looking at her like he's never seen anything like her before, and she's sure she's blushing already. She's usually in jeans and t-shirts and sandals or sundresses when he sees her. She's only a little more dressed up, now: a soft, silky blue shirt tucked into a skirt that tastefully hugs the curve of her hips and legs. 

"Hi," she says, suddenly shy, and it's followed by a laugh as a small body barrels into her legs, enthusiastic arms flung around her middle. "Hey, T." 

"I didn't know you were coming!" Thea trills, and Eowyn grins a smug little grin that has Eomer shaking his head. 

"I invited her," Eowyn says. "I hope you don't mind." 

Aragorn and Arwen glance at each other, then back to Eomer before they look up at Lothiriel. 

"Of course we don't mind," Arwen says. "How could we? It's lovely to see you again, Lothiriel," 

"And you," Lothiriel replies, half-amazed that Arwen would remember her - they couldn't have met more than twice, and that briefly. 

And next to them is a familiar face, indeed. 

"Faramir!" Old habits returning, she moved around the table on light feet to greet her cousin (already standing, in anticipation of this move) with a hug. "I didn't know you would be here!" 

"Neither did I," Faramir replies, laughing. "In fact, I wasn't going to, but Aragorn and Arwen are rather difficult to refuse." 

"You're making it sound as though we dragged you here," Aragorn said. "It wasn't nearly as difficult as that." 

His glance shifts to Eowyn, who's now walking toward them, but Lothiriel can't help but wonder if there's more to the story than the fact that she's approaching. One glance at Faramir's face - his eyes, particularly - is enough to seal her suspicions. _ **Hmm...**_

"I didn't know you knew Faramir," Eowyn admits, and Lothiriel looks up at him with a grin. 

"He's my cousin," she says. "I've known him all my life." 

She's either mistaken, or some little knot of tension in Eowyn's shoulders just released. In fact, Lothiriel's not even quite convinced that Eowyn had noticed it: she jumps right back into introductions without so much as a hiccup. 

There's Legolas and Gimli, more familiar names, though Lothiriel hadn't met them in person until now. There are Merry and Pippin, who have already polished off a full basket of bread between them. Sam and Rosie are the couple holding hands on top of the table, and Frodo is the one with sad blue eyes that make him look older than he is. And then, of course, there's Eomer and Thea, and Aragorn and Arwen's children. (Eldarion is just a little older than Thea, and their daughter is a baby in her mother's arms.) There are three empty seats: one beside Eomer, which Lothiriel has a sneaking suspicion is meant for her, and - strangely - two at the head of the table. 

"Are we expecting anyone else?" She asks Eowyn and sees the easy smile drop to something more solemn. 

"No - - we leave two empty seats each time. For Theodred and Boromir." 

The unexpected mention of her cousin's name takes Lothiriel's breath away for a moment, the old grief cutting through the happy hum of the room. 

"Oh." Is all she says, all she can say, before Eowyn steers her back toward the empty chair beside Eomer. 

"We've saved a seat for you," she says, grinning, and Eomer groans. 

"Be nice, Eowyn." He stands, and when he looks at Lothiriel there's a warmth in his eyes that goes straight to her bones. 

"I am being nice," his sister says, sweetly, then lowers her voice: "Don't forget I'm the reason she's here, brother mine. _You_ should be nice to _me_." 

Eomer grumbles something Lothiriel can't understand, but Eowyn only tugs on a length of his hair before darting away, leaving Eomer to his task of helping Lothiriel into her chair. 

"She does have a point," he whispers, low against her ear as he slides the chair forward. This time, Lothiriel knows she's blushing. 

* * *

 

Dinner is nice, though Lothiriel would not have been able to say what she had eaten. She's much too much distracted, both by Eomer's presence so close beside her, and by the rise and fall of conversation. Merry and Pippin even begin to sing, at some point, and soon have the whole table laughing. Somewhere between dessert and coffee, Thea crawls into Lothiriel's lap and falls asleep. She catches Faramir's lifted eyebrow and shakes her head, tries not to think about how close Eomer's arm and shoulder are to her own. How good it feels to sit beside him like this, with Thea asleep in her arms. How _right_. 

But the most distracting moment of all comes while they all sip their coffee, while Pippin and Merry polish off seconds (or thirds?) of dessert. Eomer's hand moves beneath the table and finds her own, moving against the lengths of her fingers so gently that it sends a shiver down her spine. 

He, on the other hand, isn't even looking at her. His attention is on what Aragorn is saying. He grins, he shakes his head...then, finally, catches her looking at him from the corner of his eye. 

"You're cheating," she tells him solemnly, her voice pitched low so that no one else would hear. Still, there's something playful sparkling in her eyes. "It isn't fair." 

In answer, he only threads their fingers together beneath the cover of the table, gives her hand a gentle squeeze.

"You don't seem to be complaining." 

Smiling, she shakes her head, gently draws her fingers from his grasp, and lifts them to smooth Thea's hair from her face, instead. 

Across the table, Eown grins at her, and Lothiriel has to duck her head to hide her smile. 

Not least because, in looking up, she had seen the way her cousin's eyes had turned soft and warm as a summer's day when they saw Eowyn smiling. 


	6. Chapter 6

After taking its own sweet time for weeks, September swept in at last. It brought with it a series of thunderstorms that swept through Gondor, the kind that left the scent of lightning on the air until the next storm swept through. 

"You're more...fidgety than normal," Amrothos noted, kicking the foot she had been bouncing absent-mindedly. "And you've been eating like you have the stomach flu."

He wasn't exactly wrong. As the days had crept closer and closer to Thea's first day of school, and - ostensibly - her first date with Eomer, she had been jittery, the kind of nervous she might usually associate with too one too many cups of coffee, unable to focus on much of anything. And her appetite had seemed to take flight as well, something that, unfortunately, her whole family had noticed. And commented on. Often. 

"I'm fine, Amrothos." 

"You're blushing." 

"I am not!" 

"You are." He poked her cheek with a finger. Halfheartedly, she pretended to try to bite him. 

"Erchirion thinks you're _in love_ ," 

Well, if she wasn't blushing before she certainly must be, now. 

"Oh, Valar. You _are_ , aren't you." 

"I-..." 

"Don't - - " Another poke aimed at her cheek. "Even try, Lothiriel. You can't lie for _shit_." 

"Hey!" 

"He's right, you know." 

"Elphir," she groaned, throwing herself backward on the cushions of the couch and covering her face. "Don't take his side!" 

Her eldest brother only chuckled. He walked into the room with his son in his arms, depositing the baby on Lothiriel's stomach. 

It made her lift her hands from her face, but gave her the perfect distraction in the form of a one-year-old nephew. She sat up and cooed at him, snuggling him happily into her arms, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo from his dark, curly hair. 

"And I think," Elphir said with a sigh, settling into the seat beside his sister, "that I know who with." 

Lothiriel groaned again, burying her face against Alphros's obliging head. 

"You've spoken to Faramir, haven't you?" 

"Oh, extensively." 

There were some days she cursed the closeness of her family. This day was one of them. 

"I don't think there's a man on this earth who deserves my baby sister," Elphir said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "But if Faramir is right, I think he's the closest to it. For what it's worth, I approve." 

"Thanks, El," she said, turning her head to shoot him a truly grateful smile. If Elphir approved at all, the rest of them would be easier. 

"Is anyone," Amrothos asked, finally butting in, "going to tell me what's going on?" 

Lothiriel and Elphir's gazes met over Alprhos's head. Elphir grinned and tipped her a wink. 

As one, they chorused "No." 

* * *

"Thea, hold _still,"_ Lothiriel said, laughing as she tried to weave the strands of tawny hair into the braid crown Thea had been begging for. "It's going to be crooked." 

Thea had not been able to stop bouncing from the moment Lothiriel had appeared to wake her. She had been campaigning all week for Lothiriel to help her get ready for school, and Lothiriel hadn't had the heart to refuse. Eomer's gaze had been more intent (and intense) than usual, and it had the waking power of at least a full cup of coffee, but she hadn't seen much of him since...until now. 

"Everything ok up here?" He asks, crossing his arms as he leaned in the bathroom doorframe. Lothiriel, holding hairpins in her mouth, shot him a look that made him chuckle. "The bus is here in twenty minutes." 

She nodded, pulling a pin from her mouth to secure a braid. The other followed right after. 

"We're almost ready," she said, glancing up to the mirror as she smoothed the last pieces of hair into place. "There." She grinned at Thea in the mirror, resting her hands on her shoulders. "Done. What do you think?" 

The bright grin was answer enough, but Thea skipped down from her step-stool and threw her arm's around Lothiriel's waist. 

"Thank you thank you thank you!" She chirped, releasing Lothiriel to dash past Eomer. "I gotta get my backpack!" She shouted, and Lothiriel smiled even as she shook her head and nudged the step-stool back beneath the sink. Eomer still stood in the doorway, and she wasn't nearly as small as Thea - there would be no slipping by him.

"Are you going to let me out?" She asked, braving one more step closer (even with her heart pounding in her ears). His responding smile was slow and melting-warm, and enough to make her dizzy. 

"Well," he said, so low it made her shiver, "I was thinking about a toll..." 

Despite herself, she laughed. 

"Thea isn't at school yet," she reminded him, shoving his shoulder gently. He yielded, putting up his hands and stepping back. But as she slipped by him, he caught her hand to make her stop and look back.

Locking eyes with her, he raised the hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. 

* * *

The bus stop buzzes with children's laughter and the chatter of parents or other caregivers. Most of them seem mildly intimidated by Eomer, seeming to ask most of their questions directly to Lothiriel. Luckily, though, the questions don't last long. The arrival of the bus forestalls them. 

Thea never wavers, too excited to be nervous. Too brave to show any fear. But she still pauses on the stairs to look back, and waves to Eomer and Lothiriel, waves again from the window as the bus pulls away. 

The parents and the nannies and the grandparents disappear one by one, dispersing as the bus rounds a corner and is gone. 

She and Eomer turn back for the house as well, Eomer looking even more solemn than usual. This time, it's Lothiriel who reaches for his hand, threads their fingers together. It wins her a smile. It wins another kiss pressed to her hand.

"We said dinner," he says, and she nods. 

"It seems a long time away," she says, hopes it sounds as breezy as she wants it to. "Doesn't it?" 

"Does, at that." His thumb caressed her hand, and she shivered pleasantly. 

"Do you think a change of plans might be in order?" She asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye, smiling when she saw the way his grin seemed to be warming. 

"Oh, I think you're right." 

* * *

He drove them to the shore with Lothiriel in the passenger seat offering directions, hands entwined. He had never seen the ocean, not up close, and the beach was close enough that they could be back in time for Thea. Giddy, Lothiriel had taken off like a bird in flight when they arrived, managed to invite him into chasing her along the shore. He caught her around the waist and, without thinking, she'd let her knees buckle to throw him off balance. With a slip of his foot in the wet sand they had fallen, Eomer propped up on an elbow to keep from falling atop her. 

Days and weeks and months of nothing but longing, she thought dreamily. She reached up to trace the line of his nose with a finger, then slid her fingers through his beard, outlined the shape of his lips with her fingertips until he growled, caught her hand in his and kissed her. A light kiss, first, just the brush of his lips against hers, but it still left her breathless and shining-eyed. 

He pulled away to look down at her, worried - - though she couldn't say why. All she wanted in the world was for him to kiss her again, not to stop kissing her.

"You're trembling," he told her, massaging the palm of her hand with his thumb. 

"Is that a bad thing?" She asked, her gaze roving from his eyes to his lips. 

 "Shouldn't I be asking you?" 

She laughed, curled her fingers around the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a second kiss. 

And another, and another. 

How much time had passed, she didn't know. How long they spent on the sand beneath the sun. 

But, eventually - - - unromantically - - - her stomach rumbled, and the first notes of his chuckle were against her lips. 

"I'm sorry," she said, entirely breathless. "I don't think I ate breakfast." 

"You don't _think_ you ate breakfast?" 

"I've been a little distracted." 

He ran a hand through her sand-strewn hair, his gaze softer than she had ever seen it. 

"Well. Come on, then. I won't have you wasting away on me." 

He pushed himself to his feet and reached down to pull her up, gently brushing sand from her hair as she shook it from her dress. 

* * *

They ate lunch at a little restaurant with a view of the water and walked back to the car hand-in-hand. 

"Are you coming back for dinner?" He asked before he opened the door. "I know Thea would like it." 

"Just Thea?" 

He was caught, and he knew it, but he only smiled. That special, soft smile he always turned on her. 

"I'd like it, too," he said, catching a tendril of her hair between his fingers, smoothing it between them. 

"I'll stay, then. But Eomer?" 

"Hmm?" 

She hesitated for a moment, fingers curling uselessly against his chest. 

"What....what are we..." 

His hand moved from her hair to cup her face, tilting her chin up to seek her gaze. 

"That's up to you. I want to be with you. You know that already." 

Lothiriel sighed and leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, enjoying the pleasant shiver that coursed through her as he wrapped his arm around her waist, ran a hand up and down the length of her spine. 

"I want to be with you," she said in echo, then laughed against his shoulder. "But...what do we tell Thea?" 

He laughed - - truly laughed - - and lifted her chin again, to kiss her forehead. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "I was too busy thinking about what I was going to tell your _father_." 

* * *

As it turned out, telling Thea was simple: she had noticed their linked hands at the bus stop right away and grinned from ear to ear. 

"I knew it!" She crowed, dancing around them as they made their way back to the house. "I knew it! Auntie Eowyn said so and she was _right_!" 

"What did Auntie Eowyn say?" Eomer asked, shaking his head as Thea wriggled out of the straps of her backpack and handed it to him. 

"She said that you and Thiri were going to _hold hands_ and _kiss_ and be _in love_ and stuff when I went back to school, and she was right! Because you are holding hands. See? I knew it." 

Eomer handed Thea the house key as they approached, and she went running to unlock the door. 

"Remind me to _strangle_ Auntie Eowyn," he muttered, and Lothiriel laughed. 

"I will do no such thing. In fact, I think you should thank her. She just made that conversation downright easy. Maybe we should send her to my father." 

Eomer only groaned. 

"Come on," Lothiriel said lightly, rising up onto her toes to kiss his bearded cheek. "I think Thea's waiting." 

And they walked up the driveway to the front door and a chattering Thea, fingers still entwined. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what happened to my tenses, we're ignoring it.


End file.
